The Annual Faber Athletics Festival
by Yellowfur
Summary: Fencing! Dodgeball! Tug-of-war! Pissing off Neidermeyer! THE SPORTS OF KINGS!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Animal House._**

**Guess what, boys and girls?! I made some more _Animal House_ fanfiction for all of you! Because I'm such a nice person.**

**Anyways, you may have seen this (probably not though) in a fic previously titled _Futile and Stupid Gestures_. Originally I was going to publish all of my _Animal House_ fanfics in a collection, but I decided I'd prefer to publish them eventually. It's easier on the readers' brains to separate them, so they don't have to figure what the difference would be between a new fic starting and just a new chapter of the same fic. Besides, they get more attention this way. And I'm kind of a whore for that kind of thing. **

**I also decided to separate the events for this into different chapters. With all the events on one thing, it was surprisingly long. **

**So yeah. This is the Faber Athletics Festival fanfiction I talked about in my profile. Finally here after months of me saying it would be... and you being indifferent.**

**I'm basically rambling now. Time for content. **

It was on a warm May evening that Hoover got an idea.

Hoover got a terrible, awful idea.

But did he listen to Boon? No he did not.

It happened when he was walking along to the cafeteria, a nutritious dinner in mind. It had come to his attention that he hadn't had sufficient protein that day. Though he does not always perfectly follow the recommended amount of nutrients one is supposed to consume each day, he makes an honest effort. This is much unlike his Delta buddies, who consider something smelling okay a synonym of nutritious.

The yellow flyer had it printed in huge letters.

_The Annual_ _Faber Athletic Festival! _

--

In the foyer of Delta House, Otter looked at the sheet that Hoover had presented him with. He looked to Hoover, then back to sheet.

"So what do you think?" Hoover asked eagerly, hands folded.

Otter laughed.

"Oh, come on! I think it would be a good opportunity to redeem ourselves! In case you haven't noticed, Otter, we haven't exactly been in Dean Wormer's good graces lately." Hoover took the flyer back defensively.

Otter continued to laugh.

"And I think it may benefit us all if you encouraged the others to participate, Otter."

The laughing wasn't showing any signs of stopping.

"There may be a prize."

Laughing until he explodes.

"You can show everyone how much better we are than the Omegas."

Shameless laughing.

"Victory sex will surely ensue."

"So when's the tournament?" Otter snatched the flyer back.

"In a few days, but we can still sign up. There are some events that require us to say who exactly is signing up for that specific sport in our team."

"Like dodgeball and skeet shooting. Skeet shooting. What the hell is that?"

"You shoot at clay targets."

"Well, they don't have golf. I'll do that instead."

"I don't think they're all that similar."

"Nonsense! They're both precision-based, aren't they? And they both involve smashing targets, don't they?"

"But-"

Otter already was writing something on the sheet with a cheap ballpoint pen. "Eric… Stratton… for… skeet shooting. Well, Hoover, my man, you just sit back and let me handle the rest of this, alright?"

"Alright, but when you're done I'd like to-"

"Sorry, can't talk, have to go deliver this to the dean's office!" And on that note, he was out the door, leaving Hoover with a head rush.

--

That night, Otter attempted to explain to Boon the pros of participating in this event. They were in Boon's room, which was musty with… something (cigarette smoke? Pot smoke? Dust? Cologne?) It was not going well, considering that Boon had the nerve to bring up _logic_ (hissss!).

"There is absolutely no point to us participating in this," Boon said, staring at the sheet explaining the rules and requirements. The bottom had been ripped off.

"Well, yes there is. I've already entered us in. We've officially made an appointment. You should learn to respect that."

"How does that even work?" Boon shook his head. "How do you sign 'us' up? As a team? You had to create a team before you entered?"

"Looks like it."

"Well, what the hell is that about?"  
"Um, I don't know, dramatic license?" Otter tried.

"What does one wear when working out?"

"Ummm… pants?" he managed lamely.

"See? You don't even know! I haven't actually done physical exercise in so long. Neither have you. We're going to suck."

"Don't be such a pessimist…" Otter's voice trailed off. He was running out of points. Not that he had many to begin with.

"I'm not being a pessimist, I'm being a realist!"

Out of the blue, Otter shot up from where he was sitting on the bed. "Isn't it worse to have tried something and failed then to have never tried at all?"

"…Not when public humiliation's-"

"_I do not regret the things I have done, but those I did not do!_"

Boon sighed. "Okay. You know what?" He handed the paper to Otter. "I'll come to this thing. I'll give it a go. Maybe Katy wants to come…"

"Just a 'go'? When at first you don't succeed, try, try, and try again!"

"_Justshutup_."

--

**The Annual Faber Athletics Festival**

Gregg Marmalard, Doug Neidermeyer, Chip Diller, and twelve other members of the Omega household were stretching and doing other warm-up exercises. In a perfectly organized fashion, they stood exactly elbow-length from each other. There were various other teams competing, including a few fraternities besides them. The other frats could only watch and feel their jealousy swell at their stretching of their supreme, tall, and toned college boy bodies. They were all in some manner of workout clothing, mostly clean sweats and matching white t-shirts.

Standing as far away from the Omegas as possible were the Deltas. They stood out because, unlike every other student there, the only people dressed in what could possibly be called workout clothes were the pledges (and Hoover).

"I thought this was an athletics festival!" Pinto said to Boon.

"It is,"

"You're wearing jeans! Otter's wearing khakis!"

"… So?" Otter asked.

"How do you expect to run in those?!"

Boon made a running-in-place motion. "Like that… duh."

"No… I meant… uh… never mind."

One of the Deltas, Hardbar, looked around. "Wait, you said there would be beer!"

Bluto was walking towards Pinto, Boon, and Otter. "Yeah, where's the brew?" Interesting question, considering that he was already drinking from a hip flask.

Shouts arose all around them.

"Yeah, where's the beer?!"

"I want a beer!"

"You said there would be beer!"

"Where am I?!"

"What did Otter say about beer?!"

"My head itches!"

"My stomach itches!"  
"This is my first time outside in sixteen days, I came out for the BEER!"

"Okay, guys! Settle down!" Otter demanded, unnoticing or uncaring that there were many onlookers frowning disapprovingly. "Look, I will see to it that everybody in this house will get their own six-pack…"

Cheers.

"…Should we win the tournament!"

Shouts of anger. A few beer cans hit Otter (proving that they were now empty-handed and indeed needed beer).

Dean Wormer took the microphone at the podium onstage. "Faber Collegians, it's an honor to welcome you to the Annual Faber Sports Festival! We have a large variety of events today, and I'm certain that there's something for everybody here today…" He trailed off for a minute. One part of the crowd of competitors stood out. What the hell were they wearing? It didn't look anything like the exercise-friendly clothes he saw on his other students. Polos, jeans, sweaters, button-downs, flip-flops, what the hell?

Out of the blue, it hit Dean Wormer just as he noticed a familiar smug face in the center of the group. "_STRATTON!_"

Feedback made everybody cringe. Once he recovered, Otter waved in a way suggesting that he was wholly unaware of the hate being directed at him in Dean Wormer's stare.

Dean Wormer cleared his throat as he caught himself. "Mm-hmm, yes, well, let the games begin…"


	2. Event 1: Skeet Shooting

**This was fun to write. This chapter is an example of mainly why I wrote this fic: because I figure the Deltas know nothing about this kind of thing and it would therefore be humorous to force it upon them.**

**Did I spell Neidermeyer right?**

**Event Number One: Skeet Shooting**

The first event took place in the Faber College courtyard. Though both Otter and Neidermeyer were on the field at the same time armed with guns, enough space and witnesses ensured that they would not be making targets out of each other.

Otter stared at the stations where clay disks, targets, were going to be shot out of. _This is a nice gun. Nice double-barreled shotgun. Alright. I can do this. Shooting a gun can't be that much different than golf. Same, um, concept. Yes. _

A whistle was blown. A clay disk shot out of the station and whizzed by Otter's head.

_OH SHIT! This is nothing like golf!_

Neidermeyer missed his first target. He was too busy watching Otter, hate faintly burning behind his otherwise dead eyes. He watched Otter glance from his gun to the station in shock. _That idiot can't even fire a gun. All I have to do is concentrate a little bit and winning shouldn't be difficult._

Meanwhile, Otter shook his head in an effort to clear it. _Okay. Can't keep standing here. I should at least try. To shoot. Wow. I've never shot anything._

The next station shot a clay disk. This time Otter actually shot a bullet. He yelped and fell backwards. "Oh my GOD!" His first time using a gun like that was a shock to his system. _Nothing. Like. Golf. _

Neidermeyer laughed out loud. "What's the matter, Stratton? Can't handle using a big boy's gun?" He enjoyed another laugh. It was really funny, after all. He fell over! What a loser! It seemed Douglas C. Neidermeyer was the bigger man today (except for the fact that he just missed two shots). Or he _was_ the bigger man, until he turned to back to Otter to see the shotgun aimed at his face, Otter seeming to be putting a lot of concentration in his positioning. Neidermeyer jumped a few inches back. "…YOU PUT THAT DOWN, YOU CRAZY BRUTE!" Out of reflex (not really, this was just an excuse), he nearly shot Otter (missing only by a couple inches and putting an end to Otter's laughter).

Dean Wormer was shouting expletives at both of the scared-shitless boys. Although Otter didn't win, he had gotten Neidermeyer disqualified, and that was the next-best thing.


	3. Event 2: Baton Passing

**I don't like this one. It's not funny. You tell me what you think.**

**Event Number Two: Baton Passing**

The simple rules of the relay had been changed especially for Delta's part in the race. Nothing big, really, the Deltas had just replaced the baton with a bottle of beer. It was encouragement for the racers; they were allowed to take a swig if they ran at a good pace without spilling any (an impossible task, what, with them getting more inebriated with every sip, but it actually improved their chances of winning).

D-Day arrived at the second section of their part of the track. He had gone at what he was proud to say was a fast speed and had successfully pulled their place up to first (a surprise to everyone that Delta House, of all teams, would be first in anything for any amount of time). But he knew that Bluto was next and may negatively impact their place, so starting him out in first was needed.

D-Day took one last swig before handing off the beer. "Alright, Bluto, it's all you! Run like the wind!"

And, an even more shocking surprise, Bluto did run quite fast. He was probably taking more than his share, but that was okay. Even though it was… way more than his share…

Meanwhile, Pinto stood slightly crouched, eager to do his part. And why not? It wasn't like helping his house win this contest would be a bad thing. It would get him a little good credit with more people than just the other Deltas, and besides, competing with them was much more fun than competing in his P.E. classes in high school. Just take this event, for example. Beer instead of a baton! _Genius! _he thought. _And I get some too!_

Bluto arrived and was hesitant to give up the drink. Eventually he did. Pinto broke out into a run, but stopped short when he realized…

"Hey, there's no beer left!!"


	4. Event 3: Jump Rope

**I like this one a lot more than the last one. It's funny because they suck! Ha ha ha! No, kidding. But yeah, I do like this one more. But don't take my word for this kind of thing - the worst crackfic ever would be good in my eyes if Boon and Otter were in it.**

**Event Number Three: Jump Rope**

"Now what do you suppose this is for?" Otter asked as he lifted up a rope with what appeared to be chunks of plastic on either end.

"That's… a jump rope," Hoover answered, walking up to where Otter and Boon were standing out on the paved area of the courtyard. Onlookers of the festival were watching on the bleachers as the various teams were jumping rope.

"Oh, is that what it is? That was my first guess, but I had assumed that since the women aren't competing today that they wouldn't have this, um, event today."

"You know…" Boon started, taking the rope from Otter and awkwardly holding it by some random part of the rope. "I've never actually tried to jump rope." He nodded at the Omegas, who were trying to look noble and manly as they hopped, as if this was as classic a test of a man's strength as ripping a phonebook. "See, they're doing it. It can't be that hard."

"Well, go on, Boon. Give it a try!" Hoover urged.

Boon grasped the handles and flipped it over his head. "Is that… what I do? That's not what they're doing. They're… jumping, am I supposed to do that? Oh yeah, duh." He tried jumping over it when it came around to his feet and succeeded. "What the...?! How is that challenging? Pfft, I can do this." He did it twice in a row, then paused again. He started up again, not pausing. "Hey, once you get going this is actually kind of fu-" It got caught under his feet after the fourth jump. "Fu- oops-uck! Oh."

"Oh, that doesn't look hard at all! Let me try!" Otter took the rope. He imitated Boon's movements and succeeded, until he reached five jumps and the rope hit his foot. "…Well! That… didn't go quite as well as I'd expected. I guess it takes, um, more skill than I… expected?..."

"Don't try to go the charismatic way!" Boon accused. He thrust his finger towards Otter. "You failed! Admit it!"

"I did better than you did!"

Meanwhile, Hoover had gotten used to the position of the rope. He tried the jumping too. He did far better than the other two, nabbing a record-breaking _seven_.

As they all took turns trying to outdo one another by one or so, Gregg Marmalard stopped jumping after reaching fifty and watched them with Neidermeyer. Neidermeyer was just scowling, as usual. Gregg shook his head, one part amusement and two parts _I'm disappointed in society_.


	5. Event 4: Hurdles

**This one isn't very funny either. Dammit! What's wrong with me? Bluto rocks. I'm ruining him. **

**Event Number Four: Hurdles**

When the whistle shrieked, the boys took off.

In a fine row, they all jumped over the first hurdle, some with a sloppier jump than others.

Ever the non-conformist, Bluto went crashing through the first hurdle with some kind of battle cry.

The other Deltas watched from the sidelines. Pinto was the first to comment, with "Looks like we lost again."

"Yeah, but you have to admit that this is pretty entertaining!" Boon replied.

"I don't think it's very funny," This comment came from Katy, who sat next to Boon on the bleachers.

Boon turned to his attention to Babs Jensen, Mandy Pepperidge, and some other carbon copy blondes that were doing a bit of cheerleading (only a bit, because GOD FORBID they actually exert themselves). "Say, why aren't you doing any cheerleading?"

She laughed. "Riiight. Can you picture me jumping around with pom-poms in a short little skirt?"

"… Yes, I can." (A lie; he was actually happy that his girlfriend was not another hairspray zombie.)

Bluto ended up finishing the race first, but coming in last place. He shoulder-checked some poor pledge from the Jewish house to do so.


	6. Event 5: Dodgeball

**But I do however like this one a lot. And it stars Boon! See?! What'd I tell you? I'm weird like that. I'm just obsessed with the little guy. **

**Event Number Five: Dodgeball**

"This is peculiar," Boon observed, mumbling to himself as he stared at the opposing team. His team was… well, it was Team Boon, considering that he was the only one on the side of the gray cement wall of the Science Building. The opposing team was comprised only of fifteen eager Omegas.

"How did that happen?!" Hoover glanced back at forth between the painfully uneven teams. Then he turned around to face Otter. "…Otter…?!"

Otter bit his lip. "I didn't think it was going to come out quite like this."

"_What did you do?!_" Boon shouted at him, clutching his only weapon of defense (a lone red rubber ball) for dear life.

"I signed you up for dodgeball, this much is true, but I would have assumed they were going to even out the teams!" Otter said. "I heard that they were going to divide up the dodgeball teams with an equal amount of the already formed teams. The ones made before the dodgeball game started. I guess they did make one house per team, but… that's not fair in this situation…"

"Did you only sign _me_ up for dodgeball?!"

"…Yes."

"WHY?!"

"Because you're short-"

"BECAUSE I'M SHORT? ARE YOU CRAZY?!

"-And therefore hardest to hit."

"YOU _IDIOT!_"

"Excuse me!" Hoover got up and darted over to where Dean Wormer was with his wife (who was switching between chain-smoking and taking a sip from a hip flask; a lovely combination). "Excuse me, Dean Wormer, but look at the teams! They're not fair! Boon is outnumbered!"

Dean Wormer, stretching his acting skills as much as he could, forced a little start as if he just noticed Hoover's presence. "What? What's that, son? Oh, go have a seat! The event's about to start!"

"But, Dean Wormer-"

"_HAVE A SEAT!_"

"EEP yes sir!" Hoover went over to his team. Back on that side of the bleachers, D-Day and Bluto kept their heads bowed in regards to their as-good-as-dead comrade. Otter kept his eyes on the team, biting his thumbnail but looking half-worried, half-amused. Pinto was white as a sheet and Flounder had his face in his hands and was shaking as if he was crying. Katy only looked slightly concerned, as she seemed to be the only one recalling that this was indeed just _dodgeball_, the balls were red rubber, and there was therefore only so much bodily harm that can result from this.

Dean Wormer had a look of pretend pity on his face. In reality he was thinking _Schoenstein pinball! Come on, you rapscallion, if you can dodge expulsion, you can dodge a ball or twelve!_

Katy was thinking _I wonder if I left the oven on._

Mrs. Wormer was thinking _I don't know what that red-haired boy was talking about… ten versus six isn't all THAT uneven… _She struggled to focus on the spot below the bleachers.

Gregg was genuinely smiling and thinking _I wonder where it hurts most to get hit with a dodgeball. Besides the groin, because that wouldn't be fair. _As if the nature of their number of team members was fair in the first place.

Chip Diller was forcing a smile and thinking _I hate my life._

Boon wasn't bothering to try and force a smile and was thinking _I wonder where it would hurt Otter most to get shoved with a hot poker. Besides the groin, because that's what I'll be hitting first._

The next sound made was a whistle.

The next fifteen sounds made were as follows: WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM _CRACK_ WHAM WHAM WHAM.

"I wonder what broke," Pinto mumbled. He had covered his eyes.

"His pride," Otter answered.


	7. Event 6: Fifty Yard Dash

**Bluto's full of it today, folks! Run! Run! Run!**

**Aaaand the line breaks that the site gives me in the document manager still don't work. Neither does making my own little breaks of hyphens. Really weird how something so simple makes the damned thing have a little attack, huh? Yay, I hate you, FF . net!**

**Event Number Six: Fifty-Yard Dash**

It was the first dash and Stork was up.

"Is this is a good idea?" Hoover asked Otter. "Can he, um, does he know the rules?"

Otter shrugged. "He said he wanted to do it. I have no idea what happens when you say 'no' to Stork. I didn't fancy finding out today."

"But do you think he can even _run_?"

Before Otter could answer, Bluto interjected with a nugget of inebriated insight. "HEY! Listen, I don't want to hear you _badmouthing_ him anymore! You hear?! I've good got, I, uh, huh? I mean, I've got a good feeling about him in my gut! And you?"

"I don't mean any offense, Bluto, I just-"

"_You just don't know_. So have a little faith in him, AL-FUCKING-RIGHT?"

Hoover blinked, then nodded.

D-Day, also there, just shook his head in disappointment at Hoover.

The runners got into position. The flaxen Omega competing in this one, who was lined up next to Stork, turned to his other side and exchanged a glance with a guy from the Less-Preppy Jock house. In the glance, the Omega nodded at Stork and smirked in a '_Man, check out this freak! Go us!_'way.

At the whistle, the runners took off. The Omega lagged because he was staring in open-mouthed shock at Stork, who was running at one-and-a-half times the speed of the next fastest runner.

Otter's face turned to one of total shock, similar to basically everyone watching the race. Bluto nearly did a spit take, but caught himself before doing the cliché, forcing the beer back down his throat, resulting in him letting violent choking noises and rolling around on the bleachers a bit before his airway was free of alcohol. By the time he lifted himself up again, Stork had long since won.

"What the HELL just happened?!" D-Day demanded.

"My reflexes kicked in…" Bluto answered.

"No, in the race!"

"I have no idea. Karma? Is Stork a good deed doer?"

"You mean a philanthropist?" Hoover said.

"I thought those were Good Samurai or something…" Otter said.

"Shut up."

"Wait, I thought you were convinced of Stork's talents already," Otter raised an eyebrow in Bluto's general direction. "Why are you so surprised?"

"I didn't think he'd actually do well. You were _badmouthing_ him, though. I wasn't going to sit there and let you do that."

"But…! I didn't mean to _badmouth_ him! Honest!" Hoover whined, now desperate to clear his name.

Otter smirked as he joined in to torment Hoover. "No, I could see it in your eyes. You were _badmouthing_ him."

"_Badmouthing_!" Bluto echoed.

D-Day was long gone.

"_Badmouthing_!" Otter repeated.

"_BADMOUTHING_!!" Bluto again.

Hoover cried out in agony.

Stork stood on the track where he had stopped a couple of minutes ago, slack-jawed and unaware of the bleachers chaos.


	8. Event 7: Three legged Race

**Hey, hey! Good idea for a spin-off: Fun with Bluto and Pinto!**

**No, wait! That's a horrible idea!**

**Have I told you how much fun it is to write Katy? This applies more to other fanfics of mine, but she is fun to write for... much as I strongly dislike her. It's like writing from the point of view of yourself if you walk into _Pee Wee's Playhouse_ or something. **

**Event Number Seven: Three-legged Race**

"Have you ever done this before?" Pinto asked Bluto as he tied their ankles together, creating the supposed three leg effect. "It's actually kinda fun. It's for kids, but still…"

"So the goal is to get past the finish line before the other teams?" Bluto cared enough about this event that he left his beer back on the bleachers (a truly heartfelt gesture).

"Yup!" Pinto smiled for encouragement. "But remember, it's all about teamwork. We have to try to walk and control our, uh, our middle leg… I don't know what it is… together. So, do it slowly but carefully…"

"Slowly but carefully…" Bluto repeated Pinto's words as if they were some sort of mantra.

"…And remember, it's about teamwork. Don't do anything to throw the other person out of rhythm." Satisfied with these tips, Pinto turned around.

Bluto stared at him with blank eyes and repeated various quotes of Pinto's explanation. "It's all about teamwork. Slowly but carefully. Together. Slowly but carefully. Don't do anything to throw the other person out of rhythm. Teamwork. Teamwork. Teamwork. Slowly, carefully. Rhythm. Together. Teamwork."

Truth be told, this was starting to creep Pinto out, but he didn't have to suffer long, as they were then given the signal to begin the race…

And right on cue, Bluto took off without waiting for Pinto to do so much as lift his leg. Bluto went running across to the finish line, dragging a screaming Pinto across the ground. Pinto scrabbled the ground desperately, but Bluto never paused even once, despite Pinto's many efforts to get up.

Meanwhile, back on the bleachers, Katy, Otter, and Boon watched the spectacle. Katy just sighed, thankful that she had not put away her first aid kit as she watched Pinto get scraped across the gravel track. Boon stared at Otter with a malevolent glare. Otter said uneasily, refusing to make eye contact, "Stop staring at me like that, the bandage on your nose makes you look freakish…"


	9. Event 8: Fencing

**This whole thing was co-writer/beta avatarjk137's idea. We decided that D-Day is Cool. And we should make that apparent.**

**Did we mention he's Cool?**

**And Neidermeyer isn't?**

**Event Number Eight: Fencing**

D-Day and Neidermeyer, the only two participating in fencing, where busy putting their equipment on. Neidermeyer was putting on the standard thick white jacket and basket-like helmet-mask. D-Day's was similar, but black for no apparent reason.

"I almost pity Neidermeyer," Otter said with a smirk. (He didn't. At all.)

"I had no idea D-Day was into fencing," Boon commented.

"It's best not to think too hard about D-Day."

Neidermeyer struck a perfect little pose, obviously fancying himself some kind of professional. D-Day didn't strike a pose; he's too cool for that.

When they were given the signal to begin, Neidermeyer was of course the first to move about. Thinking he was going to make some sort of elaborate spectacle out of humiliating this pathetic Delta in front of their peers, he danced around and tried to make fake stabs.

But when he got close enough D-Day simply sliced along the padding on Neidermeyer's chest. His tight-assed opponent froze in shock. D-Day took this freezing as an invitation to make two more slices, forming a neat little 'D' on Neidermeyer's chest. Major style points.

Neidermeyer brought up his blade in a surprise attack, his face burning with embarrassment. D-Day smoothly parried and sliced twice across Neidermeyer's belt line causing the Hitler youth's pants to fall down.

Now angered, Neidermeyer tried to take another step forward, only succeeding in adding insult to injury when D-Day was able to defect his downward slice and send Neidermeyer's weapon flying off.

The other participants, sitting on the bench, all looked immensely worried. One of them, a pledge from the Nerd House, started crying.

"_HA HA HA!_" Otter laughed with showy exaggeration.

"_LOOOSERRRR!_" Boon shouted, pointing at Neidermeyer.

They continued making hideously loud and comically exaggerated catcalls.

"_BOOOOOO!_"

"_D-DAY IS KING!_"

"_NEIDERMEYER SUUUUCKS!_"

"_BWAAAHHHH!_"

Flounder looked on, fascinated and impressed by this expression of Delta spirit. Hesitantly, he added, "Neidermeyer sucks!"

Boon and Otter turned to him, both with similar frowns on their faces. Boon was the first to address the pledge. "Hey, Flounder, keep it down over there."

"Don't be so immature!"

Mayor DePasto looked at the scene with a stern look. _That boy is dangerous. I'll call up one of my cement mixer buddies… he'd make a great gargoyle for the church…_

D-Day began to walk up the bleachers, seemingly uncaring of his victory.

Flounder watched him. "I wish I could be as cool as D-Day!"

Boon laughed. "You will never succeed."

(Insert here the sound of Flounder's confidence and heart breaking into a few dozen pieces.)


	10. EVent 9: Pole Vault

**Yayyyyy same tired concept! But this time you have a little_ devious_ Delta fun. (-dances little jig-) Go you. Go you. ... ****Frankly, I'm surprised Hoover, Boon, and Pinto did as well as they did. Oh wait, I'm the writer! I shouldn't be surprised! Oh my. Anyways, enough of my ramblings, soon they're going to be a s long as this chapter (the next two are biggies in comparison to the rest of the fic).**

**Event Number Nine: Pole Vault**

Bluto was totally up for the pole vault. He picked up the pole and ran toward his target. As he reached it, he let out a battle cry similar to one of the ones he had earlier. "RAAAAAAAAGGHHHH!" He was still screaming as he planted the pole on the ground, pushed up with his feet, attempted to lift himself off the ground, and failed miserably, thumping back down on his back.

Hoover was next. Getting off to a better start then Bluto, but still not having enough strength, he was able to lift himself a little higher before embarrassing himself, landing right on his ass.

Boon was actually able to get himself totally off the ground, but ended up smacking right into the other pole.

Pinto, following the trend of doing just a little bit better, got over the bar, but landed on his back (and just sort of lay there for a while).

Bluto wanted to go again but was denied this request. So when it was Gregg Marmalard's turn, to occupy himself, Bluto decided to whack his pole out from under him.

They lost the event.


	11. Event 10: Tug of War

**Event number nine was really sad, huh, boys and girls?**

**Boon and Otter rock because- uh, they're cruel? I don't know. They rock. Shut up.**

**Here is Chip Diller. Chip Diller is about to snap. Won't that be fun? Heh heh, yeah. I can't wait.** **Oh, hey, come here. Come closer. Come closer! (-wave wave beckon-) Closerrrr! (-lean-) You know Gregg Marmalard? I think he might be _gay._**

**Event Number Ten: Tug-of-War**

Once again, the Deltas were facing the Omegas. It had to have been fate (or maybe the fact that at this point no other team wanted to deal with the Deltas, but let's go with fate; it sounds better.)

While the Omegas prepped about, Flounder looked up and down the line of Deltas who scurried about like ants, either arguing about who would be in what position or making some attempt to anger an Omega. Flounder was trying to decide at what length he should stand and tug on the rope. He didn't think they would want him up front, so he decided to go for some inconspicuous spot in the middle. Just as he picked a spot, Boon and Otter approached him.

Otter grabbed his shoulder and began leading the pledge away. "Heyyy, Flounder, I have a great idea as to where you could be of the most help to us!"

"Yeah, you're really important to this competition, buddy!" Boon added. "It's the perfect spot for you."

"Gee, thanks, guys!" Flounder let them lead him towards the back of the small crowd, feeling utterly loved and needed. _These guys are awesome! I haven't had such good friends since I was in elementary school. They care about me more than my brother does. I feel like I'm worth something! They've encouraged me!!_

They stopped at the end of the line of rope, where it was knotted into a circle about the diameter of Flounder's body.

Otter gestured to the end of the rope. "We need you back here, Flounder. You have to be at the end."

Flounder's usual confused expression popped up. "Why?"

Boon threw the circle around him. "Because you're the fattest, that's why!!"

Otter nodded. "We need you to anchor us."

They left a traumatized Flounder behind and passed Bluto and D-Day, who were having their own very serious discussion.

"Did you take care of it?" D-Day asked.

"Yup; spread the lye all over their end of the rope. They'll need skin grafts after this."

"What'd you do with the leftover stuff?"

"Uh… let's see, what did I do with it… hmmm…" (You could almost hear Bluto's impaired brain gears struggling to click.) "Uhhh, nowhere important."

Now D-Day was a bit worried. "Are you sure? That stuff can burn you, man."

"Look, if I put it somewhere _liable_, I'm sure I would have remembered by now!"

"Hey guys, keep it down and get in line!" Hoover ordered (but not too loudly, because that wouldn't be very Hoover-like). "We're about to start!" Hoover was at the front of their line. He had to be at the front because he was the only one who could be trusted not to physically attack the Omegas.

"Hey, Hoover. Marmalard's in a perfect position for you to kick him in the balls, isn't he?" Bluto pointed out, obviously trying to tempt Hoover.

Hoover gave him a dirty look.

"Just saying,"

When the whistle sounded, both sides immediately began pulling. The Deltas were quickly losing but not admitting defeat.

But it wasn't enough for Neidermeyer. "PULL HARDER, YOU DAMN MAGGOTS! ESPECIALLY YOU, PLEDGES!"

"YEAH, OMEGA PLEDGIES!" Boon agreed. "PULL HARDER OR YOU'LL BE ON THE BOTTOM AGAIN TONIGHT!!"

"OUUUCH!" Hoover dropped the rope and waved his burnt hands around.

D-Day looked at Hoover in shock as Hoover jumped and shouted about. "BLUTO, WHAT SIDE OF THE ROPE DID YOU SPREAD THE LYE ON?!" Actually, he should be happy that Bluto did a bad enough job that only Hoover was afflicted.  
Bluto ignored him. Or maybe he didn't even realize he was being spoken to. "HEAVE-HO! PULL, DAMMIT!"

"I'm surprised we've lasted this long!" Pinto grunted to Flounder, who was behind him.

"…I'm in pain…!" Flounder managed.

Bluto, now in the front of line due to Hoover's running off, realized that they were so close to losing that it was unrealistic and cliché that they were lasting so long. Marmalard was right in front of him and in such a perfect position too, with his legs spread apart.

Could you honestly expect Bluto to resist temptation?  
_WHAM._

No, you could not.

Groaning, Marmalard dropped to his side and rolled around a bit, clutching his groin.

Dean Wormer was practically having a heart attack. His face turned red as he yelled into the microphone. "YOU LOSE, DELTAS! YOU LOSE THE TUG-OF-WAR, YOU BRATS!!" Wormer continued shouting into the microphone, but honestly, nobody was listening to him anymore.

Just as the Omegas began to put the rope down, the Deltas tugged and pulled the little flag over the line. "We wiiiiinnnn!" One of them called out. The others cheered.

"You idiots, you're disqualified!" Chip Diller shouted. "_We_ won! You lost!"

"Yeah, but we're happy!" Bluto said with an oblivious smile.

Chip Diller gasped. He looked down the row of Deltas. They were all smiling or congratulating each other. _Damn you all. Damn you, Delta House. DAMN YOU TO HELL!! FUCK YOU!! FUCK YOOOOUUUU!!_

Bluto stared as on the outside, it only looked like Chip Diller's face was twitching. _He needs a beer. _Bluto held out a bottle of beer (on his person this entire time).

Chip Diller froze and looked at it in shock. The man who he had just mentally cursed so much was offering him a drink.

Bluto wiggled the bottle a bit in impatience.

Chip Diller reached out, hesitant, shrinking back his hand a bit. Then he finally took it and stared at it. He looked at Bluto in disbelief; he couldn't remember the last time he had been shown so much compassion.

"I didn't spike it, just drink it. I'd hate to see it go to waste. I'd probably kick your ass."

Chip Diller felt tears gather in his eyes. He desperately searched his mind for some way he could express his gratitude. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. He felt like he was a human again, not just Omega cattle.

He was now considering obeying the man who had made Chip Diller a little more alive at that moment. But just as he began to try to open the beer, Otter zipped in front of him, snatched it away from him, and opened it. He toasted with Bluto (yes, he had another beer. Where he gets these is a mystery.) "Yeah, we won!!" Otter chugged the beer. "I knew we could do it, except when we couldn't. Say, what's wrong with him?" He gestured to Chip Diller, who was frozen in shock and twitching and shaking violently.

Bluto shrugged. "He's slow."


	12. Final Event! PingPong

**This took too long. :( **

**The scary thing is that my cowriter/beta avatarjk137 and I now use these DIY Omegas (Omega OCs) rather frequently. Wait, that's not scary, it's just annoying! Speaking of avatar, he's the one who included the "four is death" bit. It has something to do with Japanese characters. Don't ask me how Otter knows this... I don't think he does... I bet he just decided four would be death today. To spite Boon. They're the best of friends. **

**I don't know anything about people from Philadelphia.**

**Anyways, it's the last chapter. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this. At least sort of. A little bit? Come on. You're at the last chapter aren't you? You must have enjoyed it a little bit. Come on, admit it. You can trust me. Except for the fact that you CAN'T! Hah. **

**I refuse to apologize for the raping line.**

**Final Event! Table Tennis Tournament**

"I have taken the liberty of setting up our teams," Otter said, in a way suggesting that you better be giving him a pat on the back or at least looking at him in an admiring fashion. "Pinto and Flounder, you two are together because you're freshman pledges; therefore, nobody else wants to play with you guys. Bluto and D-Day can be a team because they're the weirdest. Boon and I are on a team because honestly, what the hell else did you expect? And Hoover, you're on the last team with…" Otter pointed at the Delta they had recruited for this. His finger hovered as he bit his lip in thought. _I've totally forgotten his name. I wonder if I ever knew in the first place. _The guy had short hair hair with Product in it and a bulging, heavy-looking backpack. These were his only two distinctive features. So, after not much thought, Otter decided, "And Hoover, you're on the last team with Guy Who Carries Huge Backpack Everywhere."

"Who are our opponents?" Hoover asked.

"Probably more Omegas," Boon answered, looking over his ping pong paddle with a bored expression.

"Oh no!" Otter looked at a sheet of paper on the wall that displayed who was fighting who. "WE'RE NOT FIGHTING OMEGAS IN ONE OF THESE MATCHES!"

Bluto gasped. "Well, who the hell are we fighting?!"

"You and D-Day are set to go against two people from the Nerd House."

"I think they're called Kappa Something Whateverthecrap," Boon pointed out.

"I don't think I care!" Otter already had his trusty cheap ballpoint pen out and was scribbling something on the piece of paper. Pinto and Flounder peeked over his shoulder. "Last minute revisions. No one will suspect a thing."

"Uh…" Hoover pointed to their side, where a boy of about eleven in a striped t-shirt and belted blue pants stood watching them.

The boy scowled. "You can't do that."

Otter smiled. "I just did!" Now he was done with the revisions and was just scribbling whatever he wanted. Probably a derisive doodle by Dean Wormer's name.

"I'm going to tell on you!"

"_What? _Ugh, how old are you? Go away, I don't like kids. You're not even a girl, and besides, even _I_ can't do anything with a girl until she's in high school."

In an attempt to get the kid to go away, D-Day tried to throw food from a half-eaten bag of chips someone had abandoned, hoping he would chase it like a dog.

"Wait… you haven't ever done it with an underclassman, have you?" Pinto asked Otter in shock.

When the chips didn't work, Bluto lifted his hand up as if to give the kid a backhand, and he ran away.

"Did I say that?! No, of course not!!" Otter stuck out his tongue in revulsion.

Pinto sighed in relief.

"I mean, the sophomore was bad enough in bed as it is. Going younger? Wouldn't even be worth it."

"…Ah-!"

Otter waved him off. "The table tennis tournament's about to start. Go towards the other pledges, Pinto. You'll find your opponents there. One's Chip Diller. You've seen him. He looks like a rodent; you can't miss him. Your other opponent's Banana Cashmere McKhaki Pants."

"…Okay…"

Otter turned his attention to Bluto and D-Day. "You guys are lucky; you get to face Marmalard and Person Who Smirks Whenever Marmalard and Neidermeyer Talk. I wish I could see the look on his face when he fails. But that's okay, we got Neidermeyer and…" Otter turned to see who was standing next to Neidermeyer. It was some guy Neidermeyer was ordering to do jumping jacks. "Boon, which one's that?"

"That's Guy From Philadelphia."

"Oh, great. All he's going to do is talk about Philly…. whatever. Guy Who Carries Huge Backpack Everywhere and Hoover, you get to face Rich-looking Guy With Underbite Who Mumbles Everything He Says (In a Vaguely British Fashion) and Guy Who Nods Whenever Neidermeyer and Marmalard Talk. See ya."

"What?! Otter, wait!" Once again, Otter zoomed off, leaving Hoover alone. The shady backpack carrier was staring at him. Hoover looked up their team number and led them over to their opponents a few tables away. "Um… hi." Hoover gave a polite little wave.

One guy was, fittingly, busy staring at either Neidermeyer or Marmalard, wishing he was at an easier position to kiss ass.

The other guy gave them a vicious smirk. Then he opened his mouth. One would expect words to come out, but all that came out was, "Esswuhhssss fissnmen mmguh bbrrr drrlllnuh!" Then he laughed.

Hoover looked near a nervous breakdown. "_Please repeat!!_"

--

"Hi," Pinto gave a small smile as he and Flounder reached Chip Diller and Banana Cashmere McKhaki Pants. "Looks like we're facing off. So, you guys play this often?"

Chip Diller sneered. "Often enough to rip your metaphorical throats out and feed them to our metaphorical leaders while we watch you choke and bleed to death."

Pinto ignored the disgusting message and only said, "…Metaphorical?"

"Of course that's just you," Chip Diller gave a hearty laugh. "Different rankings, different death. Take that Hoover of yours. To make sure you realize that we mean business, I'm sure someone from our team is, as we speak, well on their way to reaching down his throat, pulling out his intestines, twisting them into knots, and then putting back where they belong."

"Hey, calm down! It's _ping pong_!" Now Pinto was freaked out.

"Well, I'm speaking in metaphors." Chip Diller said with a _duh_ tone.

Chip's companion only picked lint of his cashmere sweater.

Flounder hadn't said anything. He looked frightened, much like a rabbit.

Chip pointed to Boon and Otter. "You see those two? I'm thinking old fashioned medieval-style-"

Pinto waved his hands to get him to stop. "You have problems! Look, before you can try to psyche us out anymore, let's just get on with this, okay? Jeez." He picked up a little plastic ball. "Hey, wait a second, is there a face drawn on this?!"

"Yeah. It's his." Chip pointed to Flounder. "You can whack your own teammate's face around with a hard paddle… if you want to."

"You should talk to somebody!!"

--

"Can I stop now?" Guy From Philadelphia asked of Neidermeyer. He was panting hard and still doing push-ups. "I want to beat these guys and end the day of winning with a nice Philly Cheesesteak."

Neidermeyer ignored him. "It appears I'm going against another couple of Delta stooges."

Boon and Otter had their arms crossed. "It appears you are!" Otter answered.

Neidermeyer's face was one of pure disgust. "Which one of you jackasses made the comment of the pledge being on the bottom?"

"That…" Boon raised his finger, only to point it across the room. "… was Pinto."

Guy From Philadelphia picked himself up, sweating and panting profusely.

"And you!" Boon shouted, ignoring a whistle in the background. "Don't say a thing about Philadelphia!"

"I wasn't going to! Well…"

Otter nodded in utter agreement. "Good thing, too. We are not in the mood for your Philly bull-" He stopped short when a little ball went whizzing by his head. "Um, excuse me? We weren't ready."

"You should be listening for your signal! Now LISTEN UP!" Neidermeyer raised his voice suddenly, making Boon, Otter, and Guy From Philadelphia flinch. "You louts try any of your little Delta games, I'll come over there and shove my square-toed boots right up your asses. I'm not about to lose to any of you today. Is that CLEAR, hoodlums?"

"Did you just call me a _hoodlum_?" Otter asked in disbelief.

"JUST SERVE!"

"It's your serve," Otter answered.

Neidermeyer growled and snatched the ball away. He threw it up to serve, but just as it reached the perfect position, Boon neighed like a horse loudly, making Neidermeyer stumble and Otter laugh. Guy From Philadelphia was silent, probably thinking about Philadelphia.

Neidermeyer looked up with clenched teeth, looking right about ready to do some god old-fashioned boot-shoving.

"I'm sorry, but I had to stop you! What do you think you're doing with that ball?! It's our serve!"

--

"Looks like you're fucked," Bluto wasted no time in stating the cold, hard truth to Marmalard and Person Who Smirks Whenever Marmalard and Neidermeyer Talk. "I've been preparing for this kind of thing after years of beer pong."

Gregg sighed. "Look. I don't want any bullshit. Let's just get through this as fast and fair as possible, alright? Try to be civil for once."

"Are you trying to give us lessons in being civil?" D-Day asked. "I'll give you a Civil War! _You_ damn Omegas are always the ones who-"

"I think I AM capable of giving you lessons in a lot more than simply being civil!! You Deltas have single-handedly ruined this tournament, which should be a fine display of physical prowess with healthy competition! Delta House has made it into a JOKE!"

Person Who Smirks Whenever Marmalard and Neidermeyer Talk smirked this entire time, looking from D-Day and Bluto to Gregg every once in a while.

Ignoring Marmalard's anger, Bluto turned his attention to the other boy. "What the hell are you smirking at?"

His smirk faded.

"Yeah, and keep it off, too."

"Okay, since neither of you brutes seem to be capable of starting things up, I'll serve first," Marmalard said with a smug tone. He reared back his arm and swiftly served the plastic ball to Bluto and D-Day as Person Who Smirks Whenever Marmalard and Neidermeyer Talk got into a good position and his smirk reappeared.

The ball went whizzing past Bluto and D-Day.

"OH! This is just like regular ping pong!" Bluto looked surprised.

"I thought you said you could kick his ass! You said you played beer pong all the time!" D-Day shouted.

"Not really. It had the word 'beer' in it. I assumed I _had_…" Bluto stared at the ball bouncing away. "I guess not."

Gregg gestured behind them. "What are you doing? Go get the ball!"

Bluto faced him with an angry face. "You're the one who hit it! YOU get it!"

"Do you want to serve?"

Bluto nodded eagerly like an excited little kid.

"Then. Get. The. Ball."

Bluto lumbered off to get the ping pong ball.

D-Day looked at PWSWMaNT. "Are you _still _smirking?"

Bluto came back, clutching the plastic ball. He threw it up in the air and, in an amazing act of hand-eye coordination usually beyond his abilities, hit the ball with his paddle.

But the ball didn't bounce off the table. It went flying straight into the face – specifically the jaws – of PWSWMaNT. He dropped to the ground and clutched his over-smirked mouth, moaning.

D-Day looked over the table at him. "Oh, get over it. It's a ping pong ball."

Marmalard ignored his obviously pained fellow Omega and scowled at Bluto.

Bluto stared back at him.

Marmalard shook his head. "My god, you're going to fail at life."

"Well, you're going to fail at ping pong. So it's even." Then he nodded to the other Omega, who was still making overdramatic noises of distress on the ground. "We need a new ball, Marmalard. All non-failures are in charge of getting new equipment."

--

"Well, we win." Hoover said with a shrug. "Good game." (A lie.)

The wealthy-looking mumbler with the slight underbite gave him a look of surprise. Then he mumbled a string of syllables that could be vaguely traced to '_What are you talking about?! How can this be?!_' It actually came out more as "Mmuh rr uu alling ammumtm?! Urgh cnnnn ds byyrrrrr?!

After an entire table tennis game's worth of trying to make sense of this man's words, Hoover's right arm twitched involuntarily. "I don't know what you just said, again, but if you're wondering why you lost, it's because your opponent is always – _always_ - looking away and you… I'm sorry, I just think you need more practice. That's all there is to it."

What Hoover decided not to bring up again, for the sake of preserving the feelings of the Omegas, was that the shady backpack-lugging character was amazingly good at this game. Even with the clumsy backpack, he never missed a shot and Hoover barely had to do any work at all.

The Omega looked at him indignantly. "I rrnrrr wuhhssn llnnnngnggng yyy! Ih mnd rnnnt!"

Guy Who Nods Whenever Neidermeyer and Marmalard Talk was looking away and nodding.

Hoover just looked at them and blinked a few times. Then he slowly turned and walked away. For the first time, Hoover truly felt like a Delta. "I need a beer right now…"

Guy Who Carries Huge Backpack Everywhere was following Hoover, but paused and rummaged through his backpack. He came up with a beer and handed it to Hoover with a triumphant smile.

Hoover took at it and eyed it. Then he laughed. "Oh! Oh ho, nooo thanks." He handed it back to him.

--

"Okay, come on, this is enough!" Pinto put his paddle on the ping pong table with a clunk and looked very distressed. "Look, Chip, you've been insulting and threatening us constantly."

Chip Diller shrugged. "It's all been in metaphors, though. Don't be so sensitive! It's all in good fun!"

"No, it's not all in good fun! You say it's metaphorical so you can get away with it! You're WEIRD. You're a weird Omega. You're all weird! And you guys say the Deltas are weird!"

"We don't say you're weird. We say you're immature."

"Whatever, I don't want to play with you anymore." Pinto crossed his arms, relishing feeling like the big man.

"Wait! You can't!" Flounder spoke up for the first time this game. "What… what will our brothers say?"

"They're probably going to quit too."

Flounder shook his head furiously. "Brother Bluto wouldn't quit."

"… Yes, he would."

"But we'll look bad!"

"We'll look fine."

"EXCUSE ME," Somebody shouted behind them.

"BROTHER BLUTO!" Flounder said with swelling enthusiasm.

"You two look a little unspirited. UnDeltaSpirited. What the fuck is going on?"

"Brother Pinto wants to quit, sir."

Bluto burped. "What?!"

Flounder nodded. "I told him, but he just wouldn't listen."

"What are you doing over here anyway? Don't you have your own tournament?" Pinto pointed out, still looking worse for wear.

"NO MATTER! What have you learned in all your time as a Delta?"

Now this actually made Pinto stop and think. Did Bluto mean what he actually learned in his months in the house; beer-guzzling tips, how to projectile vomit for his benefit, how to cheat on tests the right way, makeshift lessons on correct lubricant usage from Otter with a flashlight, buying things he shouldn't underage? Or did Bluto mean the many cliché sayings that he constantly tried to push as standard Delta mottos; "When the going gets tough, the tough gets going" and no doubt more that Bluto was going to say right now? "I've learned a lot."

"DAMN STRAIGHT. But what's our motto?"

"Uh…"

Bluto didn't wait. "_Don't get mad, get even_."

Pinto went wide-eyed and stared back at Bluto, an emotion never felt by Pinto suddenly sweeping through his body.

Bluto recognized this and grinned broadly, giving Pinto a pat on the shoulder. "That's right. Now if you'll excuse me, I have my own game to get back to."

"Hey yeah, why are you over here?" Flounder asked. "Was your game delayed?"

"No, D-Day and I just declared intermission. We knew it would piss Marmalard off… Oh great, where'd D-Day go?!" Bluto stomped off towards his table.

--

"The score is tied. The stakes are high. It's late in the game, and Delta's got the serve. Player Number 1 Stratton has the ball. Ladies and gentlemen, you could cut the tension with a knife." Otter self-narrated.

"Why do you get to be player one?" Boon asked, bouncing a different little plastic ball up and down on his paddle.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, you don't have to be two."

"And be what? Three? Give me a break."

"Ten's good."

"_Ten sucks_."

"Well, you can't be four. Four is death, and you're my partner for this game."

Meanwhile, Neidermeyer, whose eyes had been flitting back and forth between them as they bantered, lip curled in disgust, finally spoke up. "OH JUST HIT THE BALL FOR CHRIST'S SAKE."

"Right! My serve!" Otter fell back into position, spreading his legs apart and crouching a bit. He waved his paddle up and down a bit, trying to find a good position for it. "Where was I? Right. Stratton puts himself back in _perfect_ position and prepares to steal back the lead for Team Delta. The crowd-"

"I WILL COME OVER AND HIT IT MYSELF IF I HAVE TO!" Neidermeyer interrupted the narration. "Just _serve_ the _ball_, you idiot!"

"Well, you don't have to threaten us…" Boon started, but Otter continued for him.

"You can't rush this kind of thing!" Otter straightened up to argue. "Are you crazy? Don't you have any respect for the sport of this game?"

"IT'S TABLE TENNIS, YOU TWIT. SERVE THE BALL."

"I would, but you just made me get out of position." Making a point of being slow about it, Otter took about a full minute to crouch down again, inspecting his own every move.

After about another minute or so, Boon spoke up. "Hey, can I serve?"

"Yeah, sure," Otter swiftly got out of position.

Guy From Philadelphia just stared at them. "Man, Faber is weird. Back in Phi-"

"CHICAGO!" Boon held his hand up.

Guy From Philadelphia was silenced into staring again. "Um… excuse me?"

"Don't talk about Philadelphia."

"Look, all I was going to say was that in Phil-"

"DETROIT!"

"STOP THAT!"

Then a silence swept over the table. Guy From Philadelphia looked slightly indignant, telltale signs of anger marring his plain face. Neidermeyer was scowling at everyone with _absolute_ disgust. Eventually Boon started bouncing the ping pong ball up and down again.

Guy From Philadelphia tried to catch him off guard. "PHILADEL-"

"_NEW YORK CITY!_" Otter shouted.

Boon nodded approvingly. "I like your gusto."

"SHUT UP WITH THE CITIES! SERVE NOW!" Neidermeyer ordered with a shout, his face turning pretty colors.

"I was getting to that, but your little Philadelphia bitch kept going on and on about Philadelphia…"

"No I wasn't!! And I'm not his bitch!"

"STOP IMPLYING SEXUAL RELATIONS IN MY HOUSE!"

"Well, it's not like you have sex otherwise."

"_THAT'S IT!_" Neidermeyer threw down his paddle. Overcome with violence, he jumped ON the table and across it, grabbing Boon and Otter's shirt collars. "I'VE HAD IT UP TO HERE!! YOU JUST KEEP DISRESPEC…"

He paused as a pledge from the Jewish House with what could only be described as 'dorky features' came up, armed with a clipboard and a little post-it note. He posted it on Neidermeyer. "No physical violence! You're disqualified!"

"_WHAT?!_" Neidermeyer turned his attention to the pledge now, but he scurried off, scribbling something on a clipboard.

"Ha _HA_! Player Number One Stratton and Player Number Two, uh, Boon win by disqualification! _The crowd goes wild!_" Otter waved to a fantasy crowd.

"I wanted to be Seven."

"You're too late."

--

"Stop! Stop! Get off! Get off! MY FACE!" Chip Diller cried/shouted/bled.

"Larry! No, please…!" Flounder tried.

"Excuse me! Hello!" Another dorky-looking guy with the clipboard and post-its from the Jewish House was standing above them, trying to post a disqualification note on Pinto, who was beating the crap out of Chip Diller with his paddle (major déjà vu for the poor, weasely pledge). "Please, no physical violence! You're disqualified!!"

Pinto stopped and got up off the whimpering Omega, panting from releasing his pent up PintoRage. "What? Disqualified?! But you should have heard the stuff this guy was saying to us!"

Flounder just stood back, wide-eyed and horrified. "You have someone else's blood on your face. And on my little ball's face!"

"I don't care. You're disqualified." The guy looked through his papers. "Delta House and Omega House are participating in four matches. Omega was disqualified from one of them and your house won another. If you guys lose your last match, you'll tie."

Pinto looked blankly ahead. "Even though we probably somehow will lose, I feel really good right about now."

Chip Diller moaned in pain.

"Are you okay?" Banana Cashmere McKhaki Pants looked over at him but didn't make any real move to help him because, helloooo, banana cashmere and khakis.

The Jewish House guy hesitated a bit, then quickly posted on Pinto and ran away as fast as he could.

--

"So the fate of the tournament rests in my hands?" Bluto said, clutching the ping pong ball as tight as Neidermeyer's ass.

The other Deltas had gathered around to show support and generally be loud and annoying, except for Pinto, who had gotten it out of his system.

Otter narrated. "Super Player Number One Blutarski has the serve. He is backed by Super Player Day. They are up against Poor Player Number Four Marmalard and some guy who won't stop smirking. Since the smirking guy looks coordinated, ladies and gentlemen, I think we are screwed."

Katy had joined them. "I must say, this entire sports festival has at least been the most _interesting_ one I've ever been to."

Flounder nodded and balled his hands into exuberant little fists. "It's so exciting!"

"I have to disagree," Marmalard said. "This is the worst Faber sports event ever. Your boyfriend and his gang of thugs have tarnished the title."

"Sportses festivals are always fun!!" Hoover, continuing his genuine Delta experience, had gotten very, very drunk before showing up.

Bluto's breathing had quickened as he stared at the ball with rigid intensity.

That guy was still smirking.

D-Day played with his moustache out of boredom (so would you if you had one like that!) as he leaned against the table. "Bluto, come on man, just serve. It's not even really that big of a deal."

"It's a huuuuuuuge deal!" Hoover insisted. "We rock annnnnd and we gotta win."

"So Katy is the sarcastic voice-of-reason commenter, Flounder's the eager one, Marmalard's the bitchy one, Otter's the narrator, Bluto's the weirdly serious player, D-Day's the uncaring one, Hoover is the shitfaced one, and that guy just won't stop the smirking." Boon was bouncing a ping pong ball on the paddle, but suddenly grabbed it and pondered the situation for a few seconds.

Katy smiled. "And your revelation…?"

He began bouncing again, trying to get a rhythm. "I'm the only one without a special role. **This is bullcrap**."

Otter laughed at him. "You were never special."

"He's so right," Hoover muttered. "I'm very shitfaced… ohmygod."

Pinto popped up. "Good news! He might not press charges! What'd I miss?"

"SSSSSHHHH!" Otter commanded right in Pinto's face.

Marmalard kept his eyes straight ahead. _These boys need a good raping_. "Could you please serve? I'd like to go get a good lunch from the cafeteria."

"Why would you go _there_ to get a good lunch?" D-Day asked.

Hoover laughed with annoyingly loud volume.

Now Bluto was shaking. "Why… why aren't you taking this seriously? What's wrong with you?! I always thought you were my brother, you were behind me, but not when things don't go the way you want, you just want to-"

"We're already ahead!" D-Day interrupted him to prevent a Bluto Speech™, which _would _have been entertaining but dangerous and costly, like people rioting in the streets (condensed into this one Bluto). "We don't have to win this round for them not to win. If we quit now it'll be a draw."

Bluto tried to comprehend this. "… Whuhhhreally?"

"Yup."

"Then why am I still doing this?!"

"Exactly."

"Let's go get drunk!"

The other Deltas, especially Hoover, cheered. Bluto led the group to the exit, where Katy followed slowly, only out of having absolutely nothing else to do. She looked tired – this was too much for one normal human being to handle.

Marmalard looked around. "I feel like there's… a void."

His companion just smirked at him.

"Please stop looking at me like that… I don't even know your name… so you can stop kissing ass. Frankly, it's gotten a little unsettling. I'm going to the cafeteria. I need some soup." The Omega Pledge didn't follow Marmalard, but his smirk followed well into the night.

--

Marmalard looked at the menu. "Tomato… no, not today. Food chowder… don't really feel like it. I'll try the house special."

He stared at it when it was scooped onto his bowl. His day kept going from bad to worse. For his own good, Marmalard chose not to dwell on any particular thing as he went to his seat. "For some odd reason, this soup reminds me of lye… Oh well."


End file.
